


Another Day in London

by Ivy_in_the_Garden



Category: Cain Saga and Godchild
Genre: Attempt at Humor, Choose Your Own Adventure, Family Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Light Satire, Multi, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-23
Updated: 2017-12-23
Packaged: 2019-02-09 05:47:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 3,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12881451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ivy_in_the_Garden/pseuds/Ivy_in_the_Garden
Summary: In which Cain finds himself in London on a mission to, once again, find the perfect doll for Mary. Ghosts, unusually clever pigeons, and dubious morality abound!





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Warflower](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Warflower/gifts).



> Posted early so I can wrangle the links. 
> 
> Hi, dear lovely readers, I would absolutely love to know which ending you got first. Please do tell me! This is my first CYOA ever, so it was little daunting to write, but it was tons of fun. Enjoy!

"Big Brother!"

Mary crossed her arms, a haughty frown on her face. Layers of lace and velvet fluttered around her; a rose-colored ribbon danced through her hair. She stamped her foot in frustration. "Is no woman resistible to you? Now, I have no governess, and poor Uncle Neil must find another one." She frowned. "It's bad enough you leave me here, trapped in this drafty house, like, like--" Intense concentration wrinkled her forehead as she searched for a suitable literary reference. "Like poor Jane Eyre in that horrid school," she continued. "I'm so bored here, and now I'll have to be taught by Aunt Katrina again. Don't you know what she's like?"  

Well, her literary allusions had improved, Cain quietly conceded. Maybe he shouldn't have seduced her governess after all. At this rate, Mary could be quoting the _Iliad_ in a few years. But Riff had done something to vex him again, and seduction was just so _easy_ and so _nice,_ and he had paraded around with the bruise nestled between his neck and clavicle.  When Riff's pale hands undressed him again that night, he relished the small, yet sharp intake of breath, as Riff found the evidence of his defiance. Slowly, lazily,Cain fixed his gaze on him, triumphant and unrepentant, searching for Riff's appalled look, as he was reminded once again that the boy he had met between the swaying lavender and the upturned earth was a child no more. 

But still, there was Mary to attend to. 

A trip to London's finest dollmaker was in order. 

* * *

 It was a heavy, chestnut-haired doll Cain selected this time. The dollmaker patiently walked him through the available models, several of which already had their own shelf above Mary's toy chest. Eight pairs of boots dangled off behind the counter, while sixteen glass eyes stared back at him--false amber, emerald, topaz. Lifeless. Too-small hands rested on satin dresses made with stitches the size of a pin. Rumor, and the newspaper advertisements, had it that this shop was a favorite of the Queen, and whatever was good enough for the princesses was good enough for Mary, as far as Cain was concerned. 

Finally, he decided on the one tucked near the end, the one with heavy curls and eyes as pale as a winter morning, and as he did, he had the strangest impression of being watched. She cost as much as a new frock, but Cain disregarded the more mundane aspects of life. In her new box, disguised in  plain brown paper, the doll rattled a little, her velvet dress cushioning some of the noise. He hoped Mary wouldn't be cross with him for too long. 

And maybe this was his way of redressing his own childhood ills by giving Mary an idealized one. Or rather, what he wanted so badly to be an ideal one. 

Riff gave him a knowing, yet gentle smile as he took the package from him. "There's a new shop with rare plants from the tropics," Riff started.

"Poisonous ones, you mean," Cain corrected. 

Riff nodded slightly. "But Master Oscar has expressed... an interest in perusing some of the pubs here."

"Is it a bit early for that?" Cain smirked a little. Still, pubs were a good source of information, particularly about potential cases. It was easier that trying to figure out how to tap Scotland Yard's telephone line, anyway. 

**[TO CONTINUE SHOPPING, GO TO CHAPTER 2. ](http://archiveofourown.org/works/12881451/chapters/29934900) **

**[TO GO WITH OSCAR TO THE PUB, GO TO CHAPTER 3.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/12881451/chapters/29934960) **


	2. Chapter 2

"I think not," Cain decided, not wanting to deal with even greater numbers of people. "But I could use a new plant for the garden. Is hellebore in season?"

Riff only smiled, worry crinkling his eyes. "You're not planning on experimenting on the chickens again?"

An enigmatic smirk was his only answer. 

As they walked on, through London's characteristic crowds and sun-brightened mist, they began to pass several badly printed advertisements for--

" _The Memoirs of A. Harold Graves_?" Cain read haughtily. "Never heard of him." He narrowed his eyes, as he read further. "'The scandalous memoirs of a man in exile from a prestigious family and deprived of his birthright. Driven into the depths of depravity, our dashing hero A-. must rely on his wits and charm if he is ever--' Well, mercifully, it cuts off there." He wrinkled his nose in disgust. "It sounds horrid."

Riff, however, quietly wondered about those loose manuscript pages he had seen once in the drawers of Alexis's writing desk, and decided not to say anything on the matter. "Indeed," he agreed.

Undeterred, and by now quite caught in the amusement that light scorn can bring,  Cain stopped at another flyer, this one hung at a child's height. "Look here, Riff. _A Vindication of the Rights of Animals_. This one's quite long." He frowned as he scanned it for suitable extracts. "'Deserving of equal treatments and rights'...'superior in all aspects to human beings'..." He raised his eyebrows. "Blimey. Sounds like someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed. You don't think it might be--" 

 "Certainly not," Riff replied, his heart quickening at the thought that he might have to defend Cain against the Doctor. 

"Good," Cain said, reaching for his cane again, to carry on to their destination. "One encounter is more than enough to last me a while."

As they began to walk on, a figure moved in the mist. Wearing a worn, pageboy cap on his head, the figure seemed preoccupied with a stack of flyers that he had been distributing, quietly grumbling to himself.  He drove a few nails into th twin of the pamphlet Cain had just been reading, and as Cain caught the gaze of the boy, his dark, familiar eyes widened in shock.

Cassian swore loudly enough to make Riff blush at his crude display, and flyers spilled out of his grasp as the he dashed off into an alleyway.  

"Wait! Come back!" Cain began, half ready to follow him. Then, he caught Riff's eye. 

Should he?

**[CONTINUE TO CHAPTER 4.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/12881451/chapters/29936445) **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will never stop making fun of Alexis. I absolutely despise him, and I imagine he'd be the type to write horrible memoirs with obvious pseudonyms. Harrold Greaves is Hargreaves divided up into two words.


	3. Chapter 3

Despite being almost the afternoon, the pub had already begun to fill. Cain idly watched the crowds from his place, slinking between groups for any news of wrong-doings. Of course, there was the usual: wicked lady-friends, mishandled money, and familial jealousy.

It bored Cain to tears.

He leaned against a corner, watching Oscar flirt with a blonde.  They laughed together. What woman could find Oscar charming? And why was she so familiar? She pushed a strand of hair back to her bun, before gesturing to him.

Suspicion rose in him, as Oscar moved over to retrieve him.

“Cain, do you remember Lucy?” he asked a little too loudly, flushed from the warmth and the gin. ”She says she knows you from a long time ago.”

Cain frowned. “I can’t say I do.”

The woman came over, beaming. “Lord Cain,” she said, offering a quick bob of a curtsey “Don’t you remember me? I was your half-sister’s governess.”

Oh no. Had he slept with her? No, probably not recently anyway, and that's what counted. (Uncle Neil just didn't realize that.)

 "Yes," he quickly lied, if only to save himself the societal embarrassment. "Mary always spoke highly of you."

He helped himself to another sip of his drink, as Oscar prattled on about her position at a local aristocratic house. This turned, somehow, to the plight of the street children, as Oscar became more melancholy the drunker he became. Cain had always pegged Oscar as a happy drunk, but clearly he was wrong. 

"They've got no one," Oscar said into his drink. "No mother to put them to bed at night, nothing."

Cain thought of Mary and (admittedly few) stories about her life on the streets. He suspected that the majority of them were too precious, and too horrible, to share with even him. "They have each other," Cain replied quietly. 

Oscar shook his head. "That's not the same." What was Oscar's family like? He only joked about being disowned, but even that must sting.   

Perched at the bar, Cain continued to wonder about Oscar's past. Soon Riff would return to collect them both after allowing Cain a little respite, but that didn't ease his state. Cain didn't like the idea of children suffering, lost and alone. It reminded him too much of those confused, horrendous years when death followed him like a mother. Before he began to seek it out for himself.  

As he idly cast his gaze towards the door, waiting for Riff, something took him aback.  

In the doorway stood the shadow of a small child. 

**[IF CAIN DECIDES COMMON SENSE IS FOR THE COMMONERS AND FOLLOWS THE SHADOW, GO TO CHAPTER 5](http://archiveofourown.org/works/12881451/chapters/29951142). **

**[IF CAIN  DECIDES TO CONTINUE BEING SAD WITH OSCAR, GO TO CHAPTER 6.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/12881451/chapters/29951157) **


	4. Chapter 4

Disregarding Riff's concern, Cain immediately set off after Cassian. If Delilah was planning something, then the wisest plan would be to uncover it before anyone came to harm--or more harm. Riff's shouts of worry quickly faded as Cain pursued Cassian through the numerous alleys and backstreets, twisting in the mist until he lost his bearings. Following him through long gouge in the brick wall, Cain came to a rather innocuous, if stately building. One of the colleges in London. Cain's heart skipped a bit.

Surely the Doctor hadn't picked up a teaching post as part of his nefarious schemes? Cain grimaced at the idea. No, no. Surely, they would see through his fanaticism, but then, again, he was quite cordial when he wanted to be. Argh! What was he planning now? To corrupt or even experiment on the youth of tomorrow? To have a steady source of income to finance even more wicked schemes? Did Delilah even pay him for his work there, or was pro-bono work expected in secret, evil organizations?

Cassian panted, grasping his knees. "Damn, you're fast. You sure don't look it."

"Cassian, is that you making all that noise? I told you, discretion is key." Cain's heart stilled as the owner of this familiar, faintly bored voice stepped of a doorway, the implements of lock-picking in hand. "Discretion, and--" Jizabel paused, as he caught sight of Cain. "Oh," he said in a low, deadly voice. "So soon we meet again."

" _You_ again," Cain replied. 

"No need for the hostilities. I was only paying a visit to an old colleague," Jizabel said smoothly, dipping his hands into his ever-present, beautifully starched and bleached, billowing lab-coat. How many did he have? "But he has chosen not to be here, unluckily."

"Why?" Cain demanded, acutely aware he was outnumbered. He only had his revolver, and that would cost him a few moments of reaction time to draw and fire. "Why are you breaking into his office then? Are you stealing his research?"

For the first time today, Jizabel looked genuinely affronted. "What?" he sputtered. "I'll have you know that I would never take an interest in his--" Jizabel grimaced, before composing himself again. "It's none of your concern. Turn around and return to your infuriating hound." 

"Certainly not." Cain reached for his revolver now, sensing the situation was about to become dicey. What could be more important to the Doctor than anther chance to make homoerotic remarks about his eyes? "Tell me now," he demanded, producing the gun, "or I will bring every policeman within three blocks here. What does Delilah want here?"

Jizabel crossed his arms. "It's not what Delilah wants." 

"What do _you_ want here," Cain amended, slightly vexed now. 

This seemed to be a more interesting question. Jizabel inhaled. "What I want," he began, "is the liberation of each and every being held in the cold, cruel grasp of mankind. Until that happy day comes, I'll settle for freeing the birds held here. Pigeons. They've been subjected to untold horrors at the hand of my colleague. Ghastly experiment to distort their nature." He paused. "Pleased now?"

That was... not quite what Cain had been expecting. "Was that yours, then--the pamphlets?"

"You read them?" Jizabel asks, suddenly unreadable. "It was Cassian's job to distribute them."

"I did," Cassian grumbles from his place near Cain, still guarded, a knife in hand. 

Jizabel ignored him. "Now, the better question is what do you intend to do about it." His smile was cold and hard; it didn't reach his eyes. "Surely you're not foolish enough to stop me. I... can't guarantee I'd take _only_  your eyes this time." He tilted Cain's chin upwards, not stopping for the gun Cain aimed at him.

Cassian looked more than faintly worried at this, but he tried to hide it well. Cain weighed his options: he was still outnumbered here.

**[IF CAIN AGREES WITH JIZABEL'S PLAN, GO TO CHAPTER 7.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/12881451/chapters/29952252) **

**[IF CAIN VOWS TO STOP HIM, GO TO CHAPTER 8. ](http://archiveofourown.org/works/12881451/chapters/29987640) **


	5. Chapter 5

Cain made his way through the pub as nonchalantly as he could, without drawing attention to himself, but his heart quickened. He had only had experience with Suzette. What could this one want? The figure remained, still as water, until he reached the threshold of the bar. Then the shadow bolted down a side-way. 

Cain followed, disturbing a flock of bright-eyed pigeons with tags around each ankle. As wings flapped around him, he caught the sight of a bedraggled, bare-foot girl with hungry eyes watching him. Was she the ghost? He thought of Mary, bright-eyed and safe at Cornwall, and was acutely aware of his well-cut, soft clothes. How lucky she had been; even he had had the fortune to back his eccentricities. But this girl had had nothing, and no doubt she had died with nothing as well. Not even an individual gravestone to mark her passing.   

Through the twisting streets, he walked on, never catching up to the shadow that waited at the corners. Then he stopped at the dollmaker's shop. He had already been here, but why had she led him back?

Tiny handprints fogged the glass display, before fading. And then he understood: she was still a child, even as she starved. 

"Where?" he asked the empty air. "Where are you?"

A pigeon only regarded him with a disturbingly intelligent orange eye, before bustling off to peek at some crumbs under a lamplight. It shuffled under a pamphlet for a magician who looked suspiciously like Crehador--and which was certainly bombastic enough for him too. Seemingly aware of his gaze, the bird returned the stare, before shuffling off towards the docks. 

Then it stopped in the shadowed alley, preternaturally still. 

Reluctantly, he followed it, though not before scanning the area to make sure he was not heading into a trap. The pigeon stood on top of freshly upturned, grey earth. A chill ran down his back.

"Are you here?" he whispered.

As if in answer, a line slithered through the dirt. As if a child were playing at the alphabet. And as he looked on, a name began to reveal itself in the half-light. C-O-L-L-E-T-T-E. He blinked, and the name vanished. 

"My Lord," Riff panted, breaking Cain's trance. "There you are! I was looking all over!" Against the light of the afternoon, Riff was his own ghostly a silhouette. Then as he moved into the alley, the vision broke. 

"Do you still have the doll, Riff?" Cain asked, as he crouched beside the upturned earth. 

Riff nodded and produced the package. "But why, Lord Cain?"

"Give it here," he said quietly. "I'll buy Mary another." And quietly, he tore the doll free of her paper packaging and lay her down on the unmarked grave.

**THE END?**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Sad Ending. Sorry. I have a weakness for ghosts and making things right for them. The pigeons are from the other route, though. Go find them!


	6. Chapter 6

It was probably not the best to run after shadows slightly drunk, Cain decided. 

"You don't treat Riff as well as you should," Oscar said suddenly, after a long silence. "People never live as long as they should. What would you do if he died?"

Something caught and burned in Cain's throat. "Don't say that."

"You buy Mary all these gifts to placate her, but you never think of Riff. Do you think his goal in life was to chase after two wanton aristocrats?" Oscar threw his head back, staring at the wall. "He could have been a doctor."

"I know," Cain said quietly, guilt twisting in his throat.

Oscar watched him. "Just... thank him every once in a while. He'll understand."

By the time, Riff retrieved them both, Oscar was snoring on the counter, and insecurity gnawed in Cain's chest.

"You don't regret your time here?" he asked, as the tab was paid and Oscar was bundled into the carriage. "With me?"

Riff gave him a questioning, concerned glance. "Never," he said at last. "You gave me my life back, Lord Cain."

"Because I don't," Cain managed, an infuriating blush in his face. "I don't regret it." 

Riff only smiled gently and drew him closer. As the carriage made its meandering way out of London, the doll bounced next to them, but Riff held Cain tightly. And in turn, Cain leaned his head against Riff's shoulder, relishing this small moment. 

 "I wish we could stay like this forever," Cain whispered, and unseen, Riff nodded. 

**THE END?**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Even the fluff is sad...


	7. Chapter 7

Cain carefully took note of the situation. "You haven't killed anyone, have you?" he asked, slowly. "It's just the birds?"

"Just the birds," Jizabel repeated, suspicious, mercifully releasing his hold on Cain and crossing his arms instead. 

Cain could have sworn he head a quiet addition of " _today_ ," but decided to let it go. Against his better sense, he pocketed the revolver. "Fine then," he said. "I have no quarrel here." His fingertips still grazed the mother-of-pearl handle, however. "On the condition," he added, catching Jizabel's gaze, "that no people are hurt in the process."

The quiet terror was almost worth the shocked looks on both Jizabel and Cassian's faces. 

"What?" Jizabel asked, perturbed. "Aren't you about to get on that high horse of yours?"

"No," Cain retorted. He most certainly did _not_ act superior at times! "I cannot claim to be sympathetic to anyone who hurts animals."  True, he might run the odd test on a chicken, but he never hurt any animals for the sake of it. And the chickens always received the antidote.  

Jizabel searched his face, but Cain held his own, until he came to a decision of some kind. "You're a strange one, aren't you?" he finally asked.

"Certainly no stranger than you," Cain replied. 

They both missed the look of disbelief on Cassian's face,  who had already decided that everyone in the Hargreaves family was barking mad, anyway. 

* * *

 Breaking into the laboratory was a matter of a hairpin expertly moved around in the lock. Cain watched, half entranced by the idea that Jizabel was a separate person, who, despite plotting how to best cause his downfall, had other interests besides him. interests that apparently extended to justice for animals. It was a strange moment for Cain, made all the stranger when Jizabel began releasing the birds from their cages.  Wings flapped in a furious storm towards the exit, talons close to Cain's face. 

Cassian, meanwhile, was helping himself to a cigarette with a bored expression. The match flickered behind his hand as he cupped the flame to the end of the cigarette, and then, having completed his task, he extinguished it with a few rough shakes. The burned end of the match quietly smoldered beside his shoe.    

"Right then," he said, when the last cage door hung in mid-air and color had returned to Jizabel's face at the physical exertion. "Shall we be off, before Mister Whatsit comes back to find ten years of research set outside?"

Jizabel paused for a moment, before rifling for the research notes and soaking them in the basin. "He won't be using the results either," he added, with an air of quiet smugness. "Serves him right for trying to tamper with nature. How dare he think that he ought to modify them for human use." 

Cain's curiosity piqued at this, despite the warning glance that Cassian gave him. "What uses?"

"They were bred to be a better replacement for the mail system." Jizabel grimaced. "Birds bred to carry more mail longer distances without need of rest. Most died in the tests of exhaustion. Ghastly. They were not born to be humanity's slaves."

Cain opened his mouth to ask another question, but the sudden appearance of Riff's voice drove it from his mind.

"Lord Cain! Are you alright?" Riff called, as he clamored through the gouge, somewhat awkwardly due to his taller frame. "I heard voices!"

"Yes, Riff, I'm alright!" Cain reassured him, relieved to finally have back-up. He never should have lost him. "I'm here--"

 But when he turned around, Jizabel and Cassian had already disappeared. 

**THE END?**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fave ending, not sorry at all. Don't care if it's OOC. Probably is, but I'm not going to cry over it.


	8. Chapter 8

He certainly would not help the mad Doctor! Who knew what he really intended to do here!

“I cannot allow it, Doctor,” Cain said, preparing himself for the inevitable conflict. His heart sank at the prospect of spilling blood, but better than letting himself die at the hands of these two.  

A hard look crossed Jizabel’s face. “You’re all the same, aren’t you? Filthy humans crawling around on the face of the earth, scrabbling and clawing and indifferent to all suffering but your own.” Leaning closer, he produced a scalpel. His breath ran hot against Cain’s throat, as Cain desperately nudged his chest with the gun, trying to find the place with the most impact. “There _are_ worse things than death,” he breathed.

Cain’s head went blank with adrenaline, his trigger finger frozen. Why couldn’t he kill him? What was stilling his hand?

 “ _Doctor!”_ came Cassian’s warning, but neither Jizabel nor Cain paid him any mind. Footsteps, loud and fast, as the scalpel made its arc through the air. Was Cassian trying to intervene? Cain watched the silver flash above him, paralyzed and entranced, knowing it would be the last thing he saw before his own blood arcing from him.

Then the silver stilled with a sudden violence.

Jizabel only closed his eyes. “It’s you again.”

“Yes,” Riff replied, in a steely calm tone, his arm shaking from his grip on Jizabel’s wrist. “I think we’re quite done here. Let Lord Cain go.”

Jizabel sighed, as if inconvenienced, and finding no other solution, reluctantly relinquished his grasp on Cain.  Then he took his distance from the pair, plotting something from afar.

“It’s not over, Cain,” Jizabel said. “It won’t ever be over.”

“It is for now,” Cain retorted, sensation returning to his limbs. He caught Riff’s worried face, the way that his sea-grey eyes followed his with concern. Then, remembering his situation, he searched over Riff’s shoulder for the other pair, but they had vanished already. 

“We’re alone again, Lord Cain,” Riff said quietly, relief in his voice.

_How did you find me_ , Cain almost asked, but thought the better of, instead settling for the gentle, lavender and soap-scented warmth of Riff against the chill of the mist. “You came just in time.”

“Luckily, I did.”

Cain leaned his head against those broad shoulders, which carried so much of his world and his worries. “Yes,” he said at last. “Thank God you did.”

** THE END? **


End file.
